Townhouse
by kiwiparallels
Summary: After three rough years, Harry decides to distance himself from the wizarding world. Unfortunately, it's not as easy as he expected. or On magical houses, muggle music and blonde acquaintances.
1. Part 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and its characters at all.  
Here are my thanks to JK Rowling for letting me borrow them for a while, as I only intended to make better shipping.

I'm very grateful to my Beta, Phoenix4Dragon, for her careful readings, comments and thoughts.  
The quality of this story increased so much since she touched it. Thanks again, Phoenix!

Harry closed the door behind him, feeling the light rain that had started falling when he arrived in London. The townhouse stood there, the windows silent, lights out, as it was still empty. He knew, though, boxes were now scattered through the floor, half open, some clothes spilling out, his few possessions thrown around as he started to unpack. He should have brought everything in his trunk, as he had planned, but Hermione thought he had to have _boxes_, so he got boxes.

He sighed. The street was calm, only a few people wandered by, and he started to walk towards the closest takeaway. It was Thai, and he felt a little warm inside thinking how mundane his life was right now. It was a random Thursday night and he would have Thai. In his house. In Muggle London. Vague memories of the months before Ron and Hermione's wedding ran through his mind. After the war, his face was everywhere, everyday. His very green eyes mixed up with the fine print in the newspaper that made even less sense than the words. The trials were a collage of blurry scenes, noisy voices and solemn silence. Sometimes, he was the one speaking, but he could only hear his speeches as if they were someone else's. Diagon Alley was too loud, too full. The whispers still haunted him in quiet moments. "_That's Harry Potter!_", "_Harry, a picture, please!_", "_A word on Greyback's sentence?_".

Grimmauld Place was, again, a solitude fortress. He knew people were starting to go back to their lives. Hermione and Ginny went back to Hogwarts after the reconstruction, to take their final year and get their _N.E.W.T.s_. Ron was looking after the shop with George, as he was in no condition to do it by himself. And Harry was just there. He read his owls as they came, answered some - but Shacklebolt's kept piling up, sometimes unopened, full of polite requests to meet the Head Auror about a job position, and even more polite offers of help. Help, why would he ever need _help_? There was nothing else to do - or to say - anymore. It was over, done. His wand felt foreign in his hand and his magic was unstable. Everyone knew his name, his face, his hair and his eyes, and everyone seemed to think he was wise and sure of what was right and what was not. And if you asked him, a few months before, he _was_ sure. He knew what was right: coming back, defeating Voldemort, keeping people safe. But then? Nothing he did now could change this world anymore.

So he didn't do anything.

Ron was in and out of Grimmauld Place from the beginning. Eventually Molly and some of the boys would visit. Hermione and Ginny came by during their winter break, and the first Weasley Christmas Dinner was easy to avoid. Fred wasn't there. No one could really celebrate, not yet. When the summer arrived, though, and the girls came back from school, Ginny had been selected by the Holyhead Harpies, and not a week after went directly into training. But even as heavily involved with the Ministry's business as Hermione became when she was asked to work in the Magical Beings Law and Diplomacy Office, she was always the one to start noticing things. Harry put on quite a show for the first few months, changing outfits, keeping the cupboards full, even renovating some of the dark rooms in the old Black Manor. But soon she sat with him, with that know-it-all look on her face, to ask if he had actually been out of the house. He looked at his cup of tea, and didn't bother to answer.

That was when the interventions started. The Weasleys sent him invitation after invitation to dinners, teas, breakfasts, brunches, any and everything. Neville kept sending him a few plants to look after, sometimes with beautiful pictures of him travelling the world to study tropical magical flora. Ginny tried to Floo over more often, talk to him, ask him - begging, even - to come watch her matches, but he wouldn't make it out the door. And he saw it was driving her _mental_. Eventually, between angry shouts, desperate sobs, warm hugs and kind words, they broke up. It was okay, honestly, he couldn't see anything for him in the world anymore. But she had the right to live her life.

Ron and Hermione were his consistent company. He knew those two would never back out on him. One day, they came to announce their wedding. He could see they were both very excited about it, but so sad they knew their best friend would not make it there. In one or two glances, he noticed part of them blamed him too. It didn't really affect him - it was his fault from the very beginning. What was there to do? That was until the first time Luna came by. She never tried to take him out of the house, she just stayed for a visit, drank some tea, and talked about the latest discovery she had published in _The Quibbler_. Once, though, he asked her if one of those could explain why he couldn't get out of the house. "_Oh, Harry, there's nothing magical keeping you inside,"_ she laughed soundly, "_your problem is you can't get out of your head."_

Not long after that, Hermione managed to convince him to start therapy. Mr. Argus, a mediwizard in his forties, started to come for an hour every day. After a few months, Harry was given some challenges. Going out to Ron and Hermione's new flat, for example. That came to be his second home. His improvement seemed to add to his best friends overall happiness, he even offered ideas about the reception, and they had great dinner parties every Thursday. Seeing anyone besides them, though, was a setback. But those dinners started to get crowded, full of loving faces of people he could only feel affection and gratitude for. Even Gin got used to this new state of things, where they were building a friendship they never really had before, in which she wasn't anyone's sister, and they didn't have to keep up with each other's romantic expectations.

His public appearances, though, were a whole different story. People didn't really stop him or touch him at all. They stared in awe, frozen in place, at the Saviour of the Wizarding World. Some were curious, most were afraid. As if he had saved them again from a dark wizard while getting a coffee from the cafe in Diagon Alley. Every single stroll on a wizarding street ended up in the next day's morning newspaper. He was getting used to it, and that made it worse. The attention was frustrating and the normality of it was even more frustrating. He decided wandering around Muggle London was preferable, even though people did still look at him - he knew since a young age his dark complexion, tall figure, topped with messy hair and bright green eyes were an attention getter in any place of England, no matter how little magic was around - but they did so with the acknowledgement that he was no more than an ordinary funny looking stranger. He savoured that word in every look - it felt so good to be ordinary again.

When he realised he had accomplished his last challenge: attend the wedding. It was a night full of kindness, he could see how the love poured out of the bushy-haired girl and the tall freckled boy he had met ten years before. Their magic danced around the place, binding them up in a union that was far from bureaucratic. It wrapped every single guest, every family member, in sparkling energy that started to soothe some of Harry's wounds. Some he didn't even know he had. Some things, then, started to fall into place. The new couple's house couldn't be his refuge whenever he felt like Grimmauld Place was pulling him in again. But going back to where he was after the war was not an option. He started to make visits. He was going from house to house, showing people how they ended up helping him in the end. He started visiting the graves of the friends he had said goodbye to, but hadn't really let go.

Andromeda's place was one of the last houses he visited, and definitely the hardest. Teddy was already three years old, and while Harry knew Andromeda would never let anything get in the way of the little boy's happiness, he was also aware that the blue-haired kid was his responsibility too. He made himself swear to her - but mostly to himself - that he would be present to see his godson grow up, and make sure Teddy's memory of his parents grew up with him also. Harry went back to Hogwarts, once. Let the emotions come upon him as he watched the Quidditch practice from the stands. In this place lived an ingenuous kind of happiness that didn't belong to him anymore. And never would. But Harry made peace with it. And when he went back to Grimmauld Place, he decided it was time to sell.

The Muggle townhouse should help him forget all about houses flooded with magic that pull you in when you are at your darkest moments. But it wasn't the house as much as it was the rain or the promised Thai food. He was feeling peaceful being by himself for the first time in a long time. His steps echoed on the sidewalk, and even though he could feel the weight of his wand in the loop sewn into his hoodie's right arm, no one else in the street could tell. It was his secret to keep. It was his secret to share.

When he walked by the door of a fresh-looking pub, he felt like going in. Everyone there seemed to be around his age, even the blue-eyed girl who gave him a half-smile when he approached the bar.

"Hey, what are you having?" she poured two pints and slid them towards a couple on the right side of the bar.

"Do you have anything to eat?" and she offered him the options in their pizzeria. Soon after he saw his slice came accompanied with a pint of their local brew. He ate in silence, taking in the sound of laughing in the background, bets being placed over darts in one corner and the soft music that made the place feel warmer.

"You're new around here, aren't you?" she asked, as she motioned to refill his pint, to which he nodded. "I figured, most of our clients are locals, but you are a fresh face. I'm Ellie, by the way."

"Harry," he said, taking a sip. "I just bought a house a few blocks down from here. I was going to get some takeaway, but this place seemed nice. Is it yours?"

"You just bought a house? But you look so young! Well, it's mine, Jack's," she pointed at a man with shaggy hair and a big smile at one of the tables, "and Chiara's, who's in the kitchen. She's the cook, I'm the bartender, and Jack's the kid with the money, like you, I guess. What do you do?"

"Hm, nothing to be honest." Harry gave her a sad smile, thinking about how that would soon be a poor excuse if he kept interacting with Muggles as he intended. He lifted his hand to grab his cup absentmindedly, but ended up knocking it to the floor. He stopped the fall and levitated it back to his hand out of instinct, wandless magic that seemed to pour out of him as needed from time-to-time. Maybe it was the whole dying-and-coming-back-thing, but it was sure a problem in a Muggle pub. Ellie was clearly startled, but he saw the relief in her face, as he placed the cup back on the counter, almost as full as it was before. "I tend to break things though."

"That catch was impressive, actually. You must be a private school jock, am I right? Let me guess? Lacrosse?"

"Well, not really. I'm just a wizard, Ellie." She laughed wholeheartedly, his truth-joke coming out exactly as he intended. He smiled with her. "Is guessing what people do a hobby of yours?"

"It gets quite boring here sometimes. When someone new comes in, I like to imagine their stories. It's good to memorise the faces too."

They chatted up a little more, between orders and customers, as the young woman seemed to not notice how Harry kept dodging her personal questions. It seemed more obvious to him now how hard it is for witches and wizards to make friends with Muggles. Absolutely no questions were answerable: what do you do? Oh, casual dark lord defeating. Where did you go to school? Your usual magic castle up in Scotland. Where's your family? All dead in the First Wizarding War. Why did you move? Post-war panic syndrome. Nope, it didn't sound like good conversation at all. It sounded more like an imminent owl coming from the Ministry to attest he had broken the Statute of Secrecy and should turn in his wand immediately. This was going to be more complicated than he anticipated

Harry paid up, and left the pub slowly. It was far from empty, and the young crowd already seemed to be not as sober as they were when he arrived. When he bumped into one of the guys it took more effort than normal to regain his footing, Harry noticed he was probably more on the drunk-_ish _side too. As he looked to the door, he noticed how the Muggle people seemed so carefree on the street. They smiled and played around as though no war had ended only three years ago. Well, for them, it didn't, he thought, with a little envy. The only exception was the guy leaning on the doorframe, his shoulders broad and stiff, brows furrowed, as if he had had his own share of real stress. He was typing quickly on one of those Muggle mobiles, pressing each button a couple of times before going to the next one. His face was half hidden by the long white-blond hair, but his pointy features were softened by a stubble and an easy smirk.

He stood like so many people Harry had met before - the ones who were taught how to stand properly, where to put their shoulders, with the royal posture that should go with their names. Like Sirius used to, though this bloke made a conscious effort to slack, maybe aided by the plain white tee and the beat-up jacket. He looked like the pictures he had seen of his parents and their friends when they were young, celebrating Christmases and Halloweens, with their cool looks even in the middle of the Order's tasks. The high cheekbones and strong jaw really looked like one of the Blacks, if only Sirius could have pulled off the blond hair. He smiled at the possibility. The guy straightened up from the doorframe and, pulling one of the strands of his hair out of his face, disappeared in the noisy crowd on the street.

Harry got the hint and started walking again, noticing how the faces he was used to in the Wizarding World were not common among Muggles. There was something, maybe it was their magic, even, that used to make every witch or wizard stand out. He knew his unusual features got him stares, but he also knew it was not only that. Muggles could notice, as the Dursleys did, that there was something about him. He felt little tingles of magic, as he used to when it seemed to work by itself, running up and down his arms, rolling around his chest, wrapping up every single hair. Somethings you just couldn't deny. And that guy, why did he remind him so much of Sirius? He didn't have his hair, or his eyes, or laugh with loud barks. He smirked instead. He clearly hadn't been locked up for twelve years, either. _Maybe_, a voice said inside his head, _he was just a wizard_. It could be, he didn't seem to notice Harry, to react to him in any way, as wizards would, so he had no way to know. He remembered the easy smile and careless hair fumble.

_Or, maybe_, the voice went on, _he was just bloody fit_.


	2. Part 2

Harry got back to the house with his head in the clouds. Conflicted between thoughts of sleek blond hair and how attractive it seemed to be even on a bloke, he didn't realise how a trail of changes followed him upstairs to the naked bed. The boxes spilled their contents, just before tucking themselves into the wardrobe near the front door. Cups and plates moved themselves to the kitchen cupboards, while books flew right to the big wooden bookshelf in the living room. Coloured clothes were slowly sorted in the walk-in wardrobe in the main bedroom where he slept. The walls went from an old beige to a clean white colour, as the wind swept the dust away from the dark hardwood floors. A flame ignited in the fireplace, right under the old Firebolt, which decided that wall was a good place to hang. A beautiful drawing of a lion, made by Luna a couple months earlier, attached itself to the wall in the hall, waving its mane with a shake.

When he woke up, blinded by the bright sunshine, his stomach roared in hunger. His Golden Snitch zoomed over the room, making him very aware of yesterday's pints and the consequent headache that pulsed in his forehead. He thought of Ellie, and how welcoming the little pub she ran felt to him. He knew his friends would love the place, but he couldn't show it to them yet. Moving to Muggle London had one objective: being away from the Wizarding World enough so he could get on with his life again. A pinch of pain took hold of his heart: did that mean there was no space for Ron and Hermione in this new life? No, of course not. It was just an adjustment time. He could figure things out as he went. His friends were there, no matter how far apart they were. Their Thursday dinners would eventually happen again. Just not right now.

He got up, looking around the room. It was like, during the night - or better, the morning, as the sun was so high in the sky that it seemed like it was almost noon - the place got a new face altogether. It was still empty, no new furniture appeared. But it did seem clean and tidy, as a house was supposed to be. He started down the stairs, watching closely for other changes, and just as the possibility of a break-in occurred to him, he ran into someone.

"Master Harry, sir," said Kreacher, anxious eyes glittering at him.

"Kreacher! What are you doing here? I thought you were at Hogwarts since I freed you."

"Kreacher was, Master Harry, he is living through the shame!" Harry thought it was better not to complain about that statement. "Kreacher is wanting to know if Master Harry is needing help decorating the new house, sir."

"I think I'm okay, Kreacher, thank you. Is there something I can do for you?"

"Kreacher is not wanting to trouble, Master Harry, sir. But Kreacher is hearing Master Harry is selling Mistress' house!"

"Yes, so?"

"Kreacher is wanting to… say goodbye, sir."

"The house is open for you as long as it's mine, Kreacher." The bow he received then was exaggerated and deep. With a last 'thank you', Kreacher flicked his hand, pointing to the kitchen, and vanished with a loud crack. The air was filled with the smell of fresh pancakes and scrambled eggs. A treat from Hogwarts, he thought. His stomach rumbled again, wondering if there would be some treacle tart. Was that what happened, then? Kreacher decided to buy his sympathy with his organisational talents? He went to the kitchen, mouth watering at the beautiful breakfast that awaited him, treacle tart included.

Harry had never been good at sensing where the magic around him came from. He knew the food was full of house-elf magic, but there was nothing in it telling him that. Hermione would help him with that. She was not just sensible, but her new experience in regards of magical creatures would pay off. He made a mental note to ask her later. Everything was delicious, but the tea was already cold. He pulled his wand and pointed at his cup, muttering a quick heating charm. As he touched it, the water quickly boiled up and evaporated. He shrugged. It happened occasionally. Maybe he should have gone back to Hogwarts, as apparently he couldn't do children's magic properly anymore. But he was above it, in his Muggle house. It wasn't a problem anymore.

He left the house later that day, thinking about how he needed to fill the house with furniture. He had never done that before, and he was sure he didn't want anything like the Blacks' furniture. It was old and classic, but also very boring and elegant in a way he would never be. The Dursleys' modern-kitsch home was no better, all colours and patterns that still reminded him of the seventies too much. He wanted a clean space, with less clutter than his head. He needed it. The task quickly got really boring. He pointed at furniture and wrote big cheques, and then pointed at more furniture. It was all exactly what he wanted, but it wouldn't get to the house for a couple of days, and he couldn't really put it together in his mind. He hadn't bought everything yet, only the big pieces he was sure he needed, and - oh, so needed - some shades for his windows, as he was still scarred from his sudden encounter with the sun this morning. When it started to go down again, he tried to think about dinner.

Cooking in the Muggle way seemed like a burden, the memory of the Dursleys gave him a chill. That wouldn't do. But his magic was faltering, and even trying one or two of Molly's charms to cook could set the house on fire. He would need to eat out again. And forever, apparently. He stopped at a cafe and bought a sandwich, eating slowly as he walked. Maybe buying stuff would be more fun with help. Maybe eating would be more fun with people. Harry wondered why his life always circled back to being alone. Even in his days at Hogwarts, in the end, it was only him and Voldemort. No one was there to actually understand what he was feeling, what he needed, what he wanted. Hell, who knew what he wanted? Recently he only wanted his _empty_ townhouse, and now, he kept muttering about its emptiness! He felt frustrated. He looked at himself, mirrored in a shop window, and sighed. Some would say he had everything. He had more money than he could count, fame, the best friends in the world, he even had a fierce girlfriend… Ginny crossed his mind then.

She had made him happy when they were in school. His heart raced to see her, his mouth dried up when he had to talk to her, kissing her was bliss. But when did it change? He remembered them as a good dynamic couple… when he was sixteen. Had it been that long? Had he been lonely for so long? He had, apparently. They tried, he knew, but it was so tiring. And there was no reward at the end. The happiness he felt by her side had a place before the war, at the Hogwarts he had called home. But not here, not at this time. If he could feel any differently he would, but it was so agonising to explain it to her. To put in words that he thought about not coming back. He knew what he had to do, but he also knew what he wanted was something else altogether. She would treat him like he was crazy, like he had never lost anyone, like he didn't understand the pain she felt. And she was one of the few who knew what it felt like to have Voldemort in your head, to feel like a pawn in a bigger game. Harry felt used. But she would say everything worked out in the end, so who cared? Once she even said that, maybe it was better he was used. He shook the thought away. A chilly breeze blew through and he wished he had a thicker coat. Although, it served the moment right, he had been feeling cold for a (long) while.

As he walked aimlessly, he tried not to think. That had always been hard. But reliving everything that went wrong would not help. He had stated that very clearly in therapy. He was lonely, yes. It was a fact he had to deal with. Maybe, what he needed was a new girlfriend, someone who didn't have to know about the mess of the war - someone fun and carefree like the Muggles he passed on the street. He thought about Ellie, she was nice. Her dark brown hair was long and wavy, carelessly knotted up. She seemed like his kind of girl, easy-going and talented. A lot like Ginny. But maybe he wasn't that easy-going anymore. Or that talented. _What did he do? She asked_. He had no answer. Being a wizard wasn't something _to do _either. He had to come up with something. Soon. Actually, before coming up with a _present_, he had to come up with a _past_. She seemed quite sure he looked like a rich kid. Maybe it was the magic energy, maybe it was the fact that he would never again worry about money in his life. Apparently, the Potters made sure of that.

But that was a good place to start. Private boarding school. In Scotland. Not that far from the truth. What else? Orphan? How could he be an orphan rich kid? His parents died recently, then - it would explain the grief that comes over him from time to time. Car accident? He laughed, imagining Aunt Petunia's face if she knew he intended to tell her lie to people again. No other family, all right. He was pretty sure no Dursley would stop to greet him on the street anytime in the future. No clue about what to do with his life - that was actually true. He felt a little bit lighter with this plan. At least he would know what to say when he talked to someone again. He wondered if he should go back to the pub. The idea of beer got his stomach churned up, but maybe he could just hang. Maybe play some darts.

His image in the shop windows caught his attention again. He had old clothes on, he knew the tee under his jacket actually had a hole under the arm. Usually he had no one to dress up for - or he would just throw some robes over everything and call it a day. Now it was time to shop some more. He went in some stores, remembering how the guy from last night was dressed. He could never pull off something like that. He didn't have the confidence or the body. Of course he had grown up, he had always been tall, and his shoulders were broader, but he still had the slim build of a Seeker. The beard was a game changer, though. He tried to keep it short and trimmed, but it did make him look older. He could work with that, maybe. His hair would do whatever it wanted, so it was a lost cause. He did like how a simple tee looked so he went for that. Everything he got was like his house: plain and uncomplicated. He played with all colours, but got simple pieces like jeans, long sleeve shirts and jumpers. His most complicated look was the one he was wearing as he left the shop: black jeans with a grey and black baseball tee topped off with a jean jacket.

He felt fresh. He went straight to the pub, sitting at Ellie's counter again. She greeted him with a smile.

"I'm sorry to tell you our kitchen is already closed. A pint, though?"

"Just some p-ginger beer, please." He stuttered as he realised they probably wouldn't have fresh pumpkin juice in a Muggle pub.

"Oh, I see it was a rough day indeed." She went to pick up a bottle, and turned to a tanned brunette girl, very tall and very thin. "Chiara, we have a new local. Meet Harry - it _is_ Harry, right?"

"Yes, it's good to meet you." Harry shook her hand. She smiled too. "You run the kitchen here, right? Last night's pepperoni pizza was incredible."

"It's an old family recipe, thanks. What brought you here, Harry?" Chiara asked, no accent, even though he wasn't sure why he was expecting one. He didn't look the part of an Englishman either.

"I bought a house a few blocks away." She looked a little bit uncertain, and turned to Ellie.

"He's the private school jock, isn't he?"

"Yeah. He never told me if I was right, though. But you know I'm good." Two ginger beers appeared on the counter.

"You are." Harry said with a smile, laughing as the girls screamed a clearly rehearsed _A-ha! _to his face.

That night's conversation was easy, no big personal questions were asked. They told him about the business, Chiara's family had been in England for a few generations now, but decided to return to Italy when she turned eighteen. Pizza was her own way of going home, and as she was starting it, her best friend from school Ellie decided to study bartending so they could open the pub of their dreams. They met Jack at a party, and once he tasted one of her pizzas, he decided that taste would make anything a good investment. Harry could only agree, Jack was absolutely right. After a couple hours, feeling the un-stressful ambience relax and soothe him, Harry noticed Ellie looking at one of the girls passing through the crowd with dreamy eyes. Chiara noticed and pointed discreetly.

"That's Ellie's biggest pub crush. She has come here every Wednesday and Saturday for the last eight months, and that face happens every time."

"She's pretty, I guess." He said.

"How can you even say that?" Ellie exclaimed. "She's perfect! She's a lawyer, always celebrating her big wins with us. Oh, if I had someone I could sue… You guess, hah! Do you even like girls?"

"O-of course I like girls." Harry was thrown off by the comment. He did like girls, he liked Gin. _Not for a long time_. And he did like Cho, back in school. _But not kissing her, at all._ He shrugged. He didn't like boys any better. _Except for the blond guy yesterday._

"Do you, really?" Chiara laughed. "It's okay, Harry, you don't need to label yourself for us. Ellie here is just messing with you."

"You don't need to, but unfortunately Chiara is super straight. I've never even had a shot." She mock frowned. Harry smirked, and looked over the crowd. People around here really didn't seem to label themselves. He saw how the interactions were really free and smooth between everyone, different from some Muggle places where he had been before, in which straight couples were the only ones to be seen. It hadn't caught his attention, usually this was how things worked in the Wizarding World too. He never thought of worrying about it. It was buried in a distant past in which he dodged bullies and had to hear Dudley's opinions about everything. A past that ended soon after Hagrid entered that hut.

"OI! Harry!" Ellie snapped her fingers in front of his face. "Did you hear me?"

"No, sorry, I was lost in thought."

"I said, I saw you ogling the cute blond boy yesterday! Is that what you're into? Long hair and leather jackets?" He was startled.

"Was it that obvious?" She nodded with a knowing smirk. "He seemed like someone I knew, actually. But, yeah, he was fit."

"Oh, he's a regular. Maybe you'll have better luck than I did. All I know is, he's pretty busy, he works a lot, I guess. What did he do, Chi? The bloke that always orders the prosciutto pizza…"

"Hm, I think he's a journalist of sorts. Music press, I guess?"

"Oh, yeah, the Nirvana t-shirt guy that actually looks a little like Kurt! And he usually drinks whisky." Ellie added, counting the information pieces on her fingers.

"What's Nirvana?" Harry asked, making both girls giggle loudly.


	3. Part 3

Music had never been a big part of Harry's life. Not when he was little and Dudley was the one in charge of everything that played around the house, and not at Hogwarts as being chased down by a madman didn't really have a soundtrack. He told the girls about his lack of knowledge in the musical department and they decided to school him. Each night, they would play different things on the pub's stereo, showing him CD's and tapes and records they had collected throughout the years.

The more he was around them, he realised he needed to get up to date with Muggle technology. As the house filled with furniture, it also started filling in with cables and a brand new computer and even a mobile. The very next day, one of them asked him for his number. Saved by the bell. He also bought a telly, a VHS player and a DVD player, even if it didn't sound like the most fun thing to do, it was part of the deal. Most of the shows were uninteresting, or talked about sappy love stories he couldn't relate to or great war tales he was fed up with. His life already seemed like the stuff that was made up to be on TV too much for him to appreciate it properly. On the other hand, Harry thought he should ask Mr. Weasley to come by sometime. The house would be a theme park for him.

Eventually, it started to look like something that belonged to him. He prepared a room for Teddy, in which he could grow. The small bed could turn into something bigger, and there was room for a desk so he could do homework when needed. He put one of his favourite pictures of Remus and Tonks in a frame by the bedside table. Remus grinned slowly as Tonks started to make faces for the camera. One of the walls had a big mirror, as he thought it would be quite an important thing for a little Metamorphmasgus.

There were details in Gryffindor colours throughout the house, but overall, everything was plain and simple, with bright details around in every colour you could think of. There was a big blue side table in the hall, for his keys and mobile - hah! It was a great acquisition. The kitchen had dark green cupboards, and the couches in the living room had colourful striped blankets that reminded him of the Burrow.

The bookshelf contained a mix of Quidditch, Charms. _PCs for Dummies_, and some Muggle classics. It also started to hold Harry's Muggle music collection. He was clearly not really fond of pop music - especially that Bye Bye Bye song, but he could give Chiara's What A Girl Wants song some consideration. The Nirvana band, that started the whole conversation, wasn't his cup of tea either. It was okay, but not one of his favourites. He really liked the Oasis. and their _Standing On The Shoulders of Giants_ album was right next to Blink 182's _Enema of the State_. Ellie described his new musical taste as "random Brit teenager who thinks he's too cool for school", which he couldn't really argue with, could he? They introduced him to some rock classics too - John Lennon and Queen went straight into his collection, even if he wondered if the latter was really a Muggle band. It sure didn't sound like one.

Their friendship started making him talk to different people everyday. He even had them notice he actually liked girls too, as they talked about the people going around the bar each night. No one there had the same effect as the guy who reminded him of Sirius. And he hadn't appeared again. Not that Harry was looking - why would he look for a random Muggle guy who he had seen once, someone who could never be fully part of his life? Because that was bothering him everyday. He always thought about inviting his new friends to his place, but weird things kept happening. Everytime he left clothes piling up on the bathroom floor, they ended up somehow clean and properly hung in his wardrobe. The dishes in the sink would wash themselves and he even felt that some of the kitchen appliances were starting to do things on their own, like his toast would be done way too fast in the morning, or the milk wouldn't spoil even if he forgot it open for days.

He wondered if Kreacher was sneaking in and out and keeping things together, even though it didn't seem likely. He couldn't find a better explanation, so he settled with that. But as his sociability was improving everyday, he decided to occupy his mind with more important matters, like owling Mr. Argus to inform him how well his recovery has been. He even met Jack the other day, who was overall polite, but didn't really seem interested in making the friendship grow. He dressed like most of the guys Harry saw on the telly, his hair streaked by highlights. Sometimes he wondered if his polished Harry Potter look would ever compare to a guy like that, but he shook the thoughts away. He could do with plain tees, some jackets or even cargo pants, but trying to lighten his hair could have disastrous results.

He didn't think it mattered, though. He was never one to befriend everyone around, to make an effort on getting people's attention. Maybe he was just used to being lonely, after all. Or maybe it was the fact that entitled blokes were never his fancy. He did hate Malfoy from day one, and he had heard what the girls said about Jack: the guy had grown up with money. He should have thought about that when he made up his backstory - now everyone was going to expect him to be as spoiled as Jack and Malfoy. Just great. Just as that thought hit him, his fireplace burnt bright green, and Ron's face appeared in the ashes.

"Harry? Hullo?"

"Ron! You're back! How was the honeymoon?" he asked, approaching the Floo connection.

"It was great, mate. I got to visit Egypt finally! How is the new place?"

"Coming together, why don't you two come through and check it out?"

Not long after that, Ron and Hermione were sitting in his living room, and cups of tea flew to their hands. They talked about their trip that extended to numerous magical cities and a couple Muggle ones. They avoided Australia altogether. Hermione hadn't found a way to revert the spell on her parents' memory, and not poking into their lives was too much of a challenge. Harry told them about his new friends and the pizzeria, and the couple was eager to compare the food with the meals they tasted in Rome. Harry played them some music, Ron was surprisingly really into the Nsync CD Ellie gave him to listen to, and Hermione was absolutely horrified with the dancing scene that accompanied it. The conversation flow was comfortable and warming, as always. Absentmindedly, he mentioned Kreacher coming in and out of the house of his own free will.

"Kreacher? The house-elf?" Hermione asked, with a suspicious look.

"Yes, he came to ask me permission to say goodbye to Grimmauld Place, and since then, he keeps organising things and washing dishes and what not."

"I don't feel any house-elf magic here. Really, nothing. I don't know how he's done it" she said, getting up and looking around, especially at his well dusted tables and the animated utensils in the kitchen. "Have you seen him here after he came to talk to you?"

"Hm, no." He said, a knot forming in his stomach. Maybe he should have worried before. "That's weird. Do you think someone else has been coming here?"

"They might. I can poke around, open an investigation. Would you like me to?"

"Yes, please." With furrowed brows and worried goodbyes, that put an end to any conversation about comparing Muggle food, Ron and Hermione left. They were not used to being threatened anymore. They shouldn't be. The war was over, and the worries now should all be inside their own heads - the memories, the shadows, the losses. Not walking around his bloody house.

Soon enough, Hermione had several wards and spells surrounding the house. The Floo was disconnected, no one could Apparate in or out of the house. Harry even tried to stay in the next few weeks, to keep an eye on things. But his routine of going to the pub, seeing people and discussing music and having a good time outside was too precious to let go. They asked the Auror Department to send in a team, and they used detectable spells here and there, went in and out with objects that clicked and buzzed, but found absolutely nothing but Harry's own magical signature. Once, they even brought a specialist from the Netherlands, who found nothing, then shrugged and left. After an entire month, the Ministry decided to call it off. Every object in the house had been tested. They told him there was nothing suspicious going on, that everything would turn out fine. Paranoid, he overheard some of the Aurors saying, when they thought he wasn't listening. And then he was alone again. He had been called that before, and it was why Hermione assured him she was still researching, going through her library on how to go into a house incognitus in every possible way. But so far, there was nothing to be done.

He tried to distract himself, tried to think about things that wouldn't race his heart and make every intake of breath feel like he was underwater, drowning. He pushed away the anxiety, bought some novels to read, watched a bunch of uninteresting TV - why did Dudley like this thing so much, anyway? - and listened to more music he had bought in his research period. He even bought himself a Nintendo 64, and played until he fell asleep on the roughest nights.

He kept going to the pub, talking to his friends, drinking a pint or two, but then he had to go home and the anxiety would kick back in. There was no telling his friends why he felt like he did. There were no Muggles worrying about potential criminal magic occurrences inside their homes. They worried about things he would never think about - paying rent, going home in the dark, and avoiding letting people know who their actual partners were.

After a particularly rough night, he went home barely past eleven, and tried to shower his worries away. As he pulled his ever-clean black tee over his head, he heard the doorbell ring. _Shit._ Did one of the girls follow him? Could any other Muggle want something with him? At least, he knew, it was hardly a wizard. Not even Hermione would ever ring a doorbell, and she was a Muggleborn. Some of Harry's wards should have vibrated if it was a trap too.

He took a settling deep breath and stuffed his wand in the right pocket of his trousers, going down the stairs quickly. Heart pounding in his chest, he opened the door just enough so he could see. Leaning on the wall right by the side of his door was someone he would never have expected. He recognised the long blond hair, a trucker hat positioned on top of it, and gasped. It was the bloke from the pub, the one he had never talked to, let alone gave his address to.

When he turned to look at the opening door, the shock was even bigger. Bright grey eyes stared at him, expressionless, while his thin lips pursed in such a familiar way, it made him nauseated. Memories flew through Harry's head in a flash, flooding him with the obviety of the face he kept seeing in the back of his mind as he looked around the crowded bar, the hair that was the only thing he remembered when he woke up at night from some dreams, the posture that made the hair on his neck stand up with a tinge of arousal. Of course, he had the Black features. Of course he had the kind of beauty you only expected to see in wizard people.

"_Potter."_ he said.

Outside of his door, was standing Draco sodding Malfoy.


	4. Part 4

Harry took a step back, motioning the man to come in. Frustration was raising up in his blood. It wasn't just because of the stupidity of not recognising a bloke he went to school with for years, or even daydreaming about his arch-enemy, but how he thought he had pulled away from the Wizarding World and got caught red handed in his Muggle safe place. Draco moved slowly, looking around the house from inside the front door. His eyebrows furrowed the longer he looked around. Harry let him, not knowing what to say. Part of him wanted to shout at Draco for barging into his life, invading the sacred little world he had built. Part of him just wanted to know what the hell the git was doing in his living room. But then, Harry thought, what was the problem in him seeing his house, anyway?

"It's not a manor, Malfoy, but I bet you've seen worse." He mumbled in a bitter tone, as he closed the door and walked into the living room, leaving the blond standing alone in the hall. Harry tried not to think about how the features were all there, the Malfoy high standing posture and the elegant slow fidgeting with long fingers.

"But it is, isn't it? How did you do it? And why _here_?" Draco seemed confused and a little outraged, but Harry had no idea what it was all about. "I mean, it just doesn't sound smart, considering the Statute of Secrecy…"

"What are you talking about?"

"What am I- Oh, Merlin, you don't know, do you?"

"I don't know what?!" Draco Malfoy, the one who always knows everything about every-fucking-thing was standing in his living room. Life was great. This was not what he had died for. Nor what he had been to therapy for. He could punch someone right now, probably Malfoy. It was his house, after all, wasn't it?

"How can you always be so fucking clueless, Harry? This is a Wizarding House!" At least, Draco was not laughing at him. He was exasperated. And he was calling him _Harry_ all of sudden. That threw him out of balance.

"Of course it is, _Malfoy_." He marked the name on purpose. "I'm a wizard, and I live here. And the house is fine, okay? The Ministry has been here and checked for every kind of threat there could be. Did you just come to make a point about the magical qualities of my house?"

Draco shook his head and sat down on one of the couches. He held his head on his hand, breathing deeply. When he spoke again, his voice was calmer, getting back to the passive-aggressive tone their conversations usually carried.

"No. I came here to ask you what the fuck you were doing at Fortuna today."

"Eating pepperoni pizza."

"No, you were not. You were talking to everyone like you owned the place."

"So? I'm friends with the owners." Again, Harry couldn't understand what was going on. He just knew how mad he was. "I should ask _you_ what you were doing there the other night."

"What? It's my favourite pub! Is Jack a wizard?"

"No, and that's the point, Malfoy. It's a _Muggle_ pub." Harry took off his glasses and pointed them at the other man. "Not a place for a Malfoy."

He saw Malfoy's lips purse again, and he was quiet for a minute before sighing and looking at him with an annoyed expression. Clearly someone's autocontrol got better with time, and the fact that it wasn't Harry's was even more unnerving.

"And you are saying you didn't notice I haven't shown up in the Wizarding World for years."

"Should I . . . you haven't?"

"No, I have been living as a Muggle since the war, Harry. Everyone knows it."

He didn't. Of course Harry hadn't noticed Malfoy's absence, that would require going places, talking to people, shaking hands. And the gossip hadn't reached him either. _That_ would require actually talking to someone outside the Weasley circle, asking about other people. And again, the idiot kept calling him Harry. Now, Draco Malfoy was living in the Muggle world and being friendly. An alert rang in Harry's head, saying it was some kind of scheme, but he knew he was wrong. There was nothing - nothing - in Malfoy's voice that sounded untrue. Even the way he said 'Muggle' had no malice, as if the word was common in his vocabulary, something with no value - not good and not bad, as one would talk about the weather. Harry scratched his head. His anger dissipated slowly, running down his spine. He heard his voice asking "why", in a whisper he had not intended to let out. Malfoy gulped, but answered without averting his eyes.

"I just couldn't go back… After the trials, with Father in Azkaban, and Mother trying to make some sense out of that fucking house… Everything I knew was fucked up. I couldn't go to Greg's after what happened with Vince, and Pansy and Blaise were both trying to act like nothing had happened. I was alone, so I needed… I needed something new." This was a side of the Slytherin Harry never knew. Draco was blunt and honest, like he had nothing else to lose. Like he had no ulterior motives for being there, for having this conversation. "I don't expect you to relate. But if you are following me to find out - I'm not doing anything. Hell, I'm barely even doing magic. I'm a fucking journalist, Harry. A Muggle one!"

"I know. Music, right?" Harry mumbled again.

"So you were following me." Malfoy raked a hand through his long blond hair, pushing it out of his face. He seemed… sad? "Some things never change, I guess."

"I wasn't. The girls told me. Ellie and Chiara." Harry's voice was cold and tired, as he processed all the information. It seemed to rub on Draco, as he shivered a little, and the blankets on the couch wrapped around him. He snuggled in for a second, before it startled him.

"Why is your bloody house answering to _me_?" Draco looked to the kitchen as two cups of tea were flying in their direction and settling on the nearest table.

"Hm, because it's magical?"

"That's not how it works, a house should only answer to the family that owns it." He paused for a second, a shadow crossing his eyes. "And, whoever they give ownership to."

"I didn't give you ownership, I just let you in."

"Yeah, you couldn't have. But your house thinks I own it, look-" Malfoy then proceeded to put the fire out and light it again, open and close curtains and generally make everything look like a bad Muggle horror movie. "How did you say you turned it, by the way?"

"I didn't do anything. No one did." The blond froze listening to Harry's answer. He looked around again, fear changing his features to something closer to the face the Gryffindor had grown accustomed to. "Really, Hermione called the Aurors, they were here for over a month… There's nothing here without my magical signature and I didn't do anything."

"As far as I know, only the founding families could have a Wizarding House, and only if they didn't have any other home. The Manor is enchanted, but not our summer cottage. And they only respect the rightful heirs of each family." Draco continued. "This house recognised your magic as heir magic and let it take over the place. But I don't think the Potters were a founding family..."

"We came from the Peverells." The blond threw him a side glance, now walking around in circles, one finger touching his lips as he thought.

"I _know_ that, thank you. Did the Potters leave you a house?"

"No. My parents' house was destroyed when -" Harry pointed at his scar with a shake of his hand. "No, the only house I had was Grimmauld Place."

"Oh, the Black House." Malfoy stopped again. "_Oh._ Is it there? Have you been there?"

"No, we can't go there. It's for sale."

"Is it sold?"

"Not yet."

"So, of course, we can go there, for fuck's sake, Potter. _Let's go._"

Breathing was getting a little harder. Harry closed his eyes, trying to get his heart rate down, as Mr. Argus had taught him. Flashes of the house's inside, and staring at the door without being able to open it, kept invading his mind, mixing up with the images he was projecting of laughing at his friends' place and walking around Muggle London.

"I can't."

Harry felt Malfoy approaching, stopping not a foot far away from his body. He could feel the heat coming from Draco's body, and the smell that flooded his senses was no help in finding the air to breathe. Fucking hormones.

"Are you scared of a house, now, Potter?"

The name change was finally settling, even though the calm and fake malice were not the usual he expected of Slytherins. There was no aim to hurt, it was pure mockery, almost flirtatious. He focussed on what he could deal with at the moment.

"Hm, I thought you were insisting on calling me Harry now."

"And I noticed you didn't really like it. We need to check on the house, _Potter_."

Harry rolled his eyes behind his eyelids. What an insistent prat.

"I can't go there because I don't know if I can get out. I spent three years locked up inside that house."

"Three years? The last three years? Who locked you up?" Malfoy kept asking questions, trying to add up the facts and keep on his mystery solving campaign. He didn't make an effort to put some distance between them and pace the room again, unfortunately.

"No one. I just didn't want to… I couldn't. Get out, I mean. It's called panic syndrome." There was a pause.

"I think it's not there anymore."

"The panic?"

"The _house_, Harry."

Harry opened his eyes. Malfoy's face was serious, a bit of concern hiding behind a forced blank expression. He started to understand it then. If something had happened to the Black House, then the Blacks would need a new one. The magic would settle somewhere else. And Malfoy… Malfoy was a Black heir too. In a weird twisted way, the git was in his clan, his… family. Life was really ironic. He took one last deep breath and held Malfoy's right arm.

"Don't let me go inside."

"I won't."

Harry Apparated them, thinking only of the Muggle street, where the houses would seem to jump from number 11 to 13.


	5. Part 5

The two of them sat on the sidewalk, watching the sun rise. Harry thought maybe it was the moment to go. Going inside Grimmauld Place was something he no longer had reason to fear. When they arrived, it wasn't there. Like the first time he saw the place, numbers 11 and 13 were side by side, a regular state for the Muggle eye. When they first arrived, they tried every spell in the book, went back and forth. One time, they actually tried going inside the neighbour's house to look for anything that could lead them inside. There was nothing, emptiness only. Harry even tried to feel the house - and he felt all the magic that surrounded him, running through his veins, and wrapping itself around him. He felt Malfoy, a source of magic as distinct and familiar as his, that spread tall, the edges flowing a little with the wind. But that was all. There was no more magic around. It was like Grimmauld Place was nothing but a bad dream, no more than a memory.

He hated that fact, at first. It's weird how we get attached to the memories of the worst moments of our lives. He blamed Malfoy for a while. Then the blond blamed him. He didn't seem to cope with the loss of the house any better than Harry. They threw insults and got ideas, and tried, and remembered unusual spells. And they tried so hard. Eventually they sat down, the enraged talk turning to whispered insults, hushed small-talk, and finally, some comfortable silence. It was only two hours later that he saw the first light. In his silence, his worries about the absence of the house started to bother him a little less. He didn't need the house or the money that would come after it was sold. It didn't hold any memories he should keep - it reminded him of the Order, of the only year he actually spent with Sirius. But somehow he didn't feel like that Sirius was the real one. He wasn't as big in Harry's memory as the one he saw in pictures with a big smile, relaxed posture, and playful behaviour. That thought warmed him inside a little bit - Harry did get to know Sirius, not the shell of the man he had become.

Harry saw Malfoy stretch his legs beside him. It had been the weirdest night, except that it hadn't. Somehow, his enemy's presence was a little like coming home. From the heated arguments to the silence as they sat there, it was what he was used to. It happened for so many years during classes, meals and detentions; Malfoy's presence was as much a constant in his life as any one of the Gryffindors. And now, they were not being threatened. There was no big evil ready to take their lives - big house disappearing or not - and Harry could finally feel some gratitude about it. Some people were the only ones who would know his story, even if he was the one telling people in the future. People in the Wizarding World all thought they knew - from their small personal experiences and newspaper articles. People in the Muggle world didn't have the slightest clue, and he couldn't really tell them. The only ones who would ever understand were the ones who were there, too close to it, too damaged by it - just like him.

He didn't know exactly how it affected Malfoy, on the other hand. Ron and Hermione had found their coping mechanisms in each other, and the Weasley family trusted their unity and warmth to get them through their losses. Andromeda had Teddy to look out for, and Harry had to remember to never take that away from her too. Ginny had Quidditch, and even though it sounded weird to think about a sport instead of a person, he knew the war gave Ginny more energy for the independence she already had. She was independent of everyone, before, except for him. And now she was free, flying as she knew no fall would take her to her lowest, because she had been there before. It was honestly beautiful to watch. It was a shame he hadn't been able to keep up with it.

Malfoy was a mystery altogether. He saw how hurt he was before and after the battle. That day in the bathroom in sixth year was still one of his most recurring nightmares. Chills ran up his spine at the memory. He glanced to the side, watching the man play with his hat, orange rays of sun escaping to tint his white hair gold.

"Do you have scars?" he asked, breaking the long silence.

"More than I can count." Malfoy unconsciously grabbed his left forearm, rubbing it slightly. Harry looked down at it, noticing how the black now spread through the blond's arm, far bigger than the Dark Mark had ever been. The mark was faded in the middle, surrounded by delicate lines that traced flowers up and down. He tried to search his memory of Herbology classes, but had no luck pinpointing what they were. That was not his question, though, he didn't mean Voldemort's scars. Those he knew about. Acknowledging his own responsibility of some of the gruesome events that occurred during those dark years was what pained him.

"Not Voldemort's." Harry saw Malfoy's eyes light up, but he didn't flinch at the name anymore. "I meant the ones I-"

"Yeah, those too."

"I'm sorry."

There was no answer at first. Malfoy let the hat drop to his lap and rubbed his eyes. He had dark circles, and it was clear that neither of them had the intention to stay awake until dawn. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he opened his mouth to answer, but closed it again. He cleared his throat, but his voice sounded tired anyway. Maybe it wasn't the long night, but the long years that separated them.

"I know, Harry." The use of his first name sounded heavy on Harry's ears again. But now, they made sense. They shared too much to ignore, too much to pretend they weren't part of the same history; they were part of a small group of people who were forced to live with other people's choices, along with their own mistakes.

"You are too, aren't you?"

"Sometimes I wish I weren't… It'd be… easier."

Harry didn't know what to say. Malfoy had really fucked up, and he would easily say no one involved with Death Eaters deserved their life to be easier in any way. He bit his lip to avoid commenting on it.

"What are those?" he asked instead, pointing to the tattoo.

"Narcissus." Malfoy answered, staring at his own arm and turning it slightly, making the flowers swirl around the old skull. It was for his mum, then. It hit Harry in the gut. If Draco didn't deserve to have an easier life now that it was all over, did Narcissa? Would Regulus have deserved? Or the kids who decided not to stay that night? Did someone like Slughorn, who overall just wanted to go on with their lives? Did Harry himself, whose life and victory had cost so many others?

Suddenly, Harry felt very tired. Maybe all those thoughts were not good material for such a weird night. He got up to his feet clumsily, and patted his pants, clearing off the dust. He stretched his arms and looked down, where the Slytherin still stared at a point somewhere on the ground.

"I think it's time to go to bed. We are not going to find anything here, anyway." He saw Malfoy nod once, then snap out of his trance after a second or two and get up. "I'll see what I can find out about this mess. Thanks for coming with." He received no more than a nod, even though stronger than the first, as the blond reached for his wand to Apparate. "Oh, and, Draco - I really wasn't following you."

When he got to his house, Harry went straight to bed. The sun was still cold outside and the blankets were cosy and inviting, so he started to fall asleep almost immediately. Sometime in between consciousness and dreaming, he thought about what he said last. He called him Draco.

The next night, he went to the pub well rested. He had slept a lot during the day, and even though he thought a lot about the latest developments regarding the Black Manor, he had - obviously - gotten nowhere. He tried not to think about how his feelings towards the Malfoys had shifted slightly after last night. And only one night, as the git just came barging through his door like he owned the place. Harry snorted. Unbelievable.

He was greeted by a skipping Ellie, who waved a piece of newspaper at him before he could even sit down.

"Guess where we will be on July 21st?" She said with a grin.

"Here?"

"Nope, at Wembley! The Oasis are playing this huge concert, we have to go! Please, say 'yes'!"

"Wow, shit, of course, yes!" Harry picked up the paper, adjusting his glasses to read what it was all about. "**The Oasis Dilemma** \- _Wembley starts selling tickets to the Oasis new album concert in July, but will the band last that long?" _he read on the headline.

"Can I talk to you, Ellie?"

The girl stopped, giving Harry an apologising smile and turned to Jack, who had approached the two of them. She followed him through the door in the back, and Harry tried to read while she was gone, but the crowd started asking for her around the bar and soon angry remarks were being shouted as people tried to order drinks, and he decided it would be impossible.

Harry jumped behind the bar and asked a particularly mad (and drunk) bloke what he wanted. He started to hand out pints and take money, which turned out to be much harder than he expected. He apologised to the people who wanted fancy drinks and asked them to wait for her to come back: that was a challenge he was so not prepared to handle.

He juggled bottles and glasses as he saw Jack come out of the back room, his coat in hand, and went straight out of the pub. Soon after, a stunned Ellie appeared, eyes sparkling. She stood, open-mouthed, looking past all the customers, to the open door. Chiara came and hugged her from behind, but she didn't show any reaction. Chi breathed deeply, and walked to the restaurant's mic, turning it on.

"**People, unfortunately, we're closing early today. Get your stuff, and getaway.**" Her announcement was followed by lots of boos and angry whispers, but eventually people started to clear out. Harry collected the last of the money, handing it to a still shocked Ellie. As he helped Chiara close the front door, he looked back once to his friend.

"Chi, what happened?"

"Jack is out." She breathed out, in a mix of anger and pure desperation. "He got his money back and now he's out."

"What does that mean?"

"It means we have no money to run this place anymore. We'll be lucky if we can pay this month's bills."

"THE FUCKING PRAT!"

Ellie's scream from the back made them both turn quickly and run to her, as she pulled her hair once before starting to sob uncontrollably. They both embraced her in a hug, while Harry's head was a confusion of thoughts. He had known the girls for less than two months, but they had become so important in his healing process, he had to help somehow.

They let Ellie curse some more, and even throw some bottles at the back of the restaurant. Chiara tried to calm her by giving some ideas: they could open a smaller place, maybe bake some pizzas at home for delivery. They wouldn't starve, they would find a way.

"No." Harry said, cautiously. "You should get a new investor."

"Sure, we should, but investors don't really pop up at our door, do they now?" Ellie sighed, hands still trembling.

"Well, I did, didn't I?" He offered, a small smile starting to form. At least tonight he wasn't the clueless one.

"You popped up to eat, not to invest, for fuck's sake! We're doomed, that's what we are!"

"Harry." Chiara said slowly. "Are you saying what I think you are saying?"

"Well, you need a better investor than Jack. The guy never did anything around here anyway, you need someone ready to work." He smiled to Chiara. He needed an occupation after all. She threw her arms around his neck with a high pitched noise and he laughed.

"What? What's going on?" Ellie rubbed her wet eyes, looking at both of them.

"Ellie, Harry is going to invest in us!"

"What?!"

He laughed again. Maybe, he did have a shot in the Muggle world.


	6. Part 6

And Harry did work. The next few days, they kept the doors closed. But there were meetings after meetings with solicitors, sorting out paperwork, visiting banks and making out a new business plan that could push Fortuna forward. The information was flooding Harry's brain. He learned about commercial kitchen utensils, the variety of drinking glasses, Italian food, restaurant tables and bar stools all while trying to understand the numbers that represented his money investment and a promising future.

Ellie and Chiara were super smart. Sometimes, Chiara talked like Hermione used to do when she was trying to work up a solution in her books, naming ingredients, or adding up numbers, and overall thinking way too fast for Harry's comprehension, even though he trusted she was absolutely right. Ellie seemed more like Ron, talking passionately as if the restaurant was their Quidditch team, and they had game plans to go through. Everytime Harry tried to disrupt or take a break from the serious talk, their glares reminded him of Ginny. The wine tastings always brought back memories of Neville and Luna discussing plants that he never knew really existed or not, as they mentioned flavours and scents he didn't know he had tasted before, let alone in that specific glass of wine.

But it was entertaining, and, before he knew it, they opened up a week and a half later, with one of Ellie's friends as the leading vocalist of the band they hired to be their first musical act. They decided they could go with less food choices, less tables, and more dancing - the dishes changed into paper plates so people could hold up their pizza slices as they enjoyed the bands that would play each night, paid for with the fee they charged at the door. Harry helped coordinate the musical acts and the bouncers, while Chiara continued to manage the kitchen and Ellie oversaw the bar. And, even opening night, they were packed with people.

Harry saw his new partners only as he passed by to check how it was going, and they were both exhilarated and really busy. He was walking around with a big smile, mimicking the girls. The two-way radio buzzed, and one of the bouncer's voice filled his ears, telling him there were journalists waiting to talk with him and the band. He wondered if Muggle press was any better than wizard press and breathed deeply. He met a young woman first, who introduced herself as a bar and restaurant critic, working for _Foodism_. He thanked her for coming and they had a good conversation, that ended up with her giving them more than a couple compliments on the music and the food.

When the band took a break, he gathered the members in a back room, so they could talk with the two music journalists that were waiting. A young man with a mullet-like hairstyle came in and introduced himself as an "MTV VJ", which sounded like a bunch of letters to Harry, but the band members seemed very pleased. The VJ talked to everyone for a bit, not really intending to make a big interview out of it, and left. Soon after, they heard a knock, as Draco came in through the open door, looking curiously at Harry. He introduced himself to the band, asked questions and took notes. He knew a little about the songs they played and asked them about their music writing process. Then, he thanked them, and the band returned to the stage for the next part of the show.

"So, you were friends with the owners, you said?" Harry heard Malfoy's voice finally directed to him as they were alone.

"I'm their new investor. We have a new business plan that includes annoying all our neighbours with good, loud music." Harry responded with one of the lines he had rehearsed, as his head cleared a bit to talk to a wizard in such an exposed place.

"Cool. I like the music choice. Those kids are really promising." Draco was not really looking at him either. Then he shot Harry an anxious glance. "Any news? With the house?"

"It's the same. No changes I've noticed."

"Did you go back? To the Bl- to the old house?"

"Twice. It's not there. Did you?" Draco nodded, as he agreed with both parts of the response. Harry's nerves boiled up a bit as a few close friends of Chiara's waved at him, and Harry didn't dare to ask more about magical houses around his customers, especially as he now had to shout to be heard over the music. "Care for a drink?"

Draco nodded and they moved out to the bar. Ellie spotted him quickly and moved over after handling a steaming pink drink and a pint to an excited couple.

"Everything okay, Haz?" She asked as he leaned on the bar.

"Yeah, would you give me a whisky and…" Harry leaned back towards Draco, letting the blond come into view from Ellie's side. When he turned back, she had a mischievous grin plastered on her face, and he frowned. "Two whiskies. And stop looking stupid."

He watched her laugh and pour the drinks in front of him. With a shake of his head, he took both glasses and handed one to Draco, who took a sip, and pointed at the bar.

"What was up with her?"

"I don't know." Harry lied, sipping from his glass.

They danced slightly, watching the concert, and refilled their glasses once as it drifted to an end. Not long after, the place was starting to empty around them, and they slipped into a couple of bar stools near the back. It was quiet there, but with the kitchen closed, Chiara came to join them. Harry introduced everyone as soon as Ellie had a break, and the girls exchanged knowing looks when the band came to say goodbye and thanked Draco for coming to watch them. Harry rolled his eyes. As they started to clean up and close for the night, Malfoy decided to leave, promising he would come back after Chiara asked him to, throwing subtle looks in Harry's direction. As soon as he was out the door, both girls leaned on the table and sized Harry up.

"What are we going to do with him?"

"Haz, sweetheart, I thought you had more game."

"That was such bad flirting, honestly."

"I hope it's not contagious, or I'll die alone."

"What are you people on?" He said, half frowning, half laughing. "I wasn't flirting at all. It's not like that."

"Darling, I know sexual tension when I see it. I'm a bartender!" Ellie said, pointing at him. "Believe me when I tell you it _is_ like that."

"No need to be a specialist, El, anyone could tell when that bloke looked at you, he liked what he saw. Too bad your response was flirting as well as a door."

"Maybe a door would be better."

"I was _not_ flirting. And it is _not_ like that, we know each other." They threw him confused looks. "We went to school together. I didn't recognise him before. He's… different."

"What? He wasn't hot like that in school? Hard to believe." Chiara mumbled as she started to clean the tables and turn chairs upside down. Harry thought about the question for a moment. There was no denying that Malfoy - Draco - was very fit. That was something he had already confessed to them before, even if he didn't know who he actually was. He went back to the memories he had of the blond in school. Hogwarts could be a great place sometimes, and a lot of that involved a young Draco laughing at the Slytherin table, short hair slicked back, always holding Harry's gaze as he noticed he was staring from the other side of the room. The rest of the Slytherins showed pained faces, dark expressions and fear that ran through their veins as fuel. Harry didn't want to think about them.

"He - No, he was. I wasn't paying attention, I guess."

The following days were just as busy, being open at night gave Harry a lot of time during the day, but most of it he spent sleeping. The pizzeria was always crowded, the bands were starting to bring lines of people to the sidewalk and their plan was going very well. In the next month, they would probably be able to hire more people, and Harry would get his money back way before he expected.

At the beginning of the next week, the girls brought him a very interesting article about their opening night, containing an extensive interview with the band, and lots of compliments on the line up choice for the month, along with some quotes from customers. Harry found Draco's name listed in the byline. It was weird thinking that someone who had hated and, as he had noticed at his house, feared him could write so much adulation about things he had done. It felt important, because the work he had put in to visualise and reopen the pub was different from anything else he had done in his life. He chose to work, he took risks, analysed plans, and he could still back out as soon as he wanted. Everything else people recognised about him, he never chose to do, he did them only because he had to, or someone would come for his head the next day. The plans were not his - he had always been a pawn in Voldemort's game, sometimes in Dumbledore's, or even in Snape's, Crouch's or Skeeter's.

Being away from the Wizarding World, doing things he wanted to do, was the first bit of actual freedom he had ever had. It almost felt like receiving a second Hogwarts' Letter, inviting him to a new world, where he could be just who he was. Now, he knew he liked whisky better than beer, that pepperoni was the best pizza Chiara made, and that the telly was still something useless. He knew music made him have chills, feel sad or pumped up, he knew he liked the night-time better than the mornings. He also knew the Muggle world was far from perfect, but really good at ignoring its own problems. The anxiety was better too. He knew there was no threat for him to fear in the Muggle world, as his wand would be the best weapon in any world. He could go anywhere, do anything. He felt powerful, as he never had felt before.

He wondered if that was the reason why Draco managed to leave the Wizarding World behind. Maybe he liked the power. Maybe it just came with the freedom. Maybe he just really liked Muggle music, or to be away from his father. Harry didn't ask many questions the other night, with the distraction of the house. He had no idea what to do about the damn house, by the way, and somehow he didn't even care anymore. The house answered to him, yes. It was magical, yes. It apparently took the place of Grimmauld Place - maybe the magic too. But what then? Couldn't he just let it be and keep living his life with Muggles? He could, he decided. Of course he could. He was going to be a version of Muggle Harry who only used magic around the privacy of his house.

Draco came by the pub again, on a calm night. They had a really new band, with not many fans yet, and it was a Wednesday. Harry greeted him with a smile and a glass of whisky.

"Thank you for your article. It helped us a lot. You're on the house today, by the way."

"Oh, no. It's just my job. I can pay for drinks..." He paused for a second, trying to decide. "Potter."

"Chill, Draco. This one is on me." Harry laughed a little, receiving only a shrug as an answer. "So, how did the journalism thing happen?"

"When I started living in the Muggle world, I wanted to know people and places, and I kept asking questions. I kept a little journal because it was so much information." Harry nodded, it really was. "Someone eventually asked me if I wanted to write about the band we had heard, and I did. They liked it, said it was a fresh point of view."

"Well, you could say that." They both smiled as Ellie approached them. "You private school kids sometimes seem like you had never listened to a rock band before."

Draco looked up with a question mark stamped on his forehead.

"Haz told us you met in school." She explained.

"Oh, Haz did, did he? What else did he say about me?" Draco threw him a funny look, snickering after hearing the nickname.

"Not much. But I'm guessing you were a jock like him, those were the first things I guessed when we met, and I was so right. And you fit the profile too."

"Yeah. We played for opposite teams in school. We kind of hated each other." Harry was relieved Ellie didn't say anything more compromising.

"Well, I can also guess you play for the same _team_ now." She laughed and Draco cocked his head to the side, trying to process the Muggle expression. Harry didn't really try. "I've seen you with a boyfriend here before, am I wrong?"

"_Oh._" Draco said, a little embarrassed. "He wasn't my boyfriend, it was just… a fling." He drank nervously from his cup, and then seemed to understand something. He pointed at Harry. "Wait, are you gay? What about your girlfriend?"

"I'm bisexual." He said, tasting the word he had heard his friends say, but never tried himself. It tasted like freedom too. "And Gin and I split up not long after… school."

"Wow. I missed out, then."

"You did." They noticed from the awkward silence that Ellie had gone back to the bar, serving pints as if she had never been part of the conversation to begin with. "We're friends now."

"What?" Draco snapped out of his thoughts.

"Gin and I, we are friends. She's cool. I miss her sometimes."

"Where is she? Don't you talk to people from school?"

"She's playing for the Holyhead Harpies. She travels a lot for the seasons, so I don't see her much. Ron and Hermione come by sometimes. They just got married."

"Well, everyone could see _that _coming. They were destined to be together from the start, weren't they?"

"I didn't, they were my best friends, I guess I didn't see the bigger picture."

"You never do, Harry. Seekers don't see bigger pictures." Harry shrugged, but he thought it was right. "They were always bickering, paying attention to each other, getting mad because they got disappointed with small things. It was quite a show from the Slytherin table."

"Yeah, but so did we. And we're not married now."

"You've got a point." Draco nodded, and pulled the pizza menu closer. "What's the best you serve here?"

"You should know, you said it was your favourite. But for me, it's pepperoni."

"Good taste, _Haz_."


	7. Part 7

That night, Harry ended up getting pissed. He talked to Draco about a bunch of different things, music, food, Muggle London. Chiara soon joined them, and started to explain recipes and cooking tricks to Malfoy, who found them very amusing. It reminded Harry of the handwritten tips inside of his book in sixth year. That, then, reminded how much he had hurt the bloke by his side with its spell. And he had scarred him for life! How could he have done it? The questions flooded his head, so he decided to stop talking. And he drank to occupy his mouth.

When Harry stood up to close, he realised he couldn't really stand up. His friends noticed too, and he felt someone steadying him up. Soon he was guided out, a light but very cold rain pouring on his head. He wished it away, and felt warmer immediately. He thought he had heard someone cursing, but kept walking. Soon he stopped, only to realise he was in front of his house, and Draco was poking him, asking for his keys.

"Are you a wizard or what?" Harry's own voice echoed around his head, and a muttered _Alohomora_ later, he was pushed inside and up the stairs. He tripped once, and then he was wet. And cold.

"OUCH, what the fuck?" He tried to leave but he was pushed back again.

"For Merlin's sake, Potter, stand still!" Draco's face was less of a blur, even under water. His head was getting clearer at the same time he started to tremble from the cold water. Suddenly, everything started to spin, and he found himself sick up on the front of Draco's Volcom baseball tee. He slid down the wall and sat down, coughing, for a while, with his head between his knees. Harry had forgotten how it felt to get this pissed, and it hadn't happened many times before. After some time, he felt better, and looked up. The bathroom was empty. He got up, turning on the hot water.

Harry tried to put his ideas back together as he undressed and showered. The whole thing had sobered him up a lot, and now he was back thinking about the damn scars. Hurting Draco represented too much that he regretted, every person he had put through suffering for associating with him, helping him, fighting for him. Every mistake he had committed summarised in one action: deliberately slashing up a sixteen-year-old in an empty bathroom. He felt his eyes ache, as some tears mixed up with the hot water. His new distractions were good, but they couldn't take the past away.

After showering, he decided he would throw himself in bed and cry until he fell asleep. Draco was gone and he could sulk in peace. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he started to his room, only to almost run into the blond, carrying two steaming tea mugs.

"Whoa. Calm down there." He extended one of them to Harry, who took it, eyes landing on the bare chest in front of him. Small and delicate lines traced it in a zig-zag, almost blended in with the very pale skin. Harry swallowed the lump that was forming in his throat. "I tried to do a wandless _Evanesco _on your sick up, but ended up vanishing the whole shirt."

"I'm sorry. I really am. I -"

"Mate, it's ok. I have been puked on before, you know? And I'm not really sober either, I was happy I didn't follow your example right afterwards."

Draco moved around, sitting on the bed. He was relaxed, sipping his tea, his hair wet by the pouring rain or the effort of putting-a-six-foot-tall-guy-under-the-shower.

"I'm sorry about those. I'd do anything to take it back." Harry pointed, as he didn't have the nerve to step closer.

"You said that before." Draco said, as Harry looked down at the floor, failing to hide the water that was starting to pool again in his eyes. "No, really. It's fine. I kind of deserved it."

"Of course you didn't! I had no idea what that spell would do, I never meant to… shit." He turned around, as now the tears were falling freely down his face.

"You didn't know what the spell would do, you didn't mean to hurt me. Snape told me. He said it was his invention, he was the only one who did. Mother screamed at him for a long time about it. But it doesn't change the fact that I deserved it. I was doing some fucked up shit back then. And I tried to _Crucio_ you."

Harry didn't have an answer to that. He drank his tea, wiped his face, and sat down on the end of the bed, his back still turned around. Looking at Draco during this conversation was simply painful. He decided to ask a question, then.

"Did you think it would work? The _Crucio_?"

"No."

"You said, at your trial… Voldemort was threatening you, wasn't he?"

"Yeah. He said he would kill me, and my parents, if I didn't complete his mission. And I had never seen Father so scared. Mother was so desperate."

"So you didn't deserve it. It was not a choice."

"It was, as far as choices go at war. I deserved my scars more than you deserved yours. They remind me to be something else, Harry. Yours were just…"

Harry looked down at his hand, the white lines showing _I must not tell lies_ in his handwriting were bright against his skin.

"They remind people that we won. It's hope, I guess."

"Do they remind you that you _won_?"

"No." Harry paused, opened and closed his hand. The window in front of him showed him a faded image of himself, bare chested, naked feet, and red eyes. He could barely see the lightning scar behind his fringe, but he knew it was there. "They remind me of the pain. Of the loss."

"There are no victories in a war, Harry. I wish I had known that before."

Harry let it sink in. Everyone had told him everything in his life was now peace, victory and he should enjoy. That was different.

"If there's no victory, what are we living now?"

"I don't know. Life, I guess. Now we can make our choices, do things right or wrong as we please. Get pissed on a Wednesday night. Worry about simple things. Isn't that how life is supposed to be?"

"I guess. I've never had a normal life. So I wouldn't know."

"Me neither. It was always so much being the Malfoy Heir, and then it all turned out to be about life or death. I thought being a wizard made me special." He snorted. "So much for special. So I decided to try being Muggle instead."

"Yeah. Me too."

"But weren't you raised with a Muggle family? Isn't this normal?"

"I was, but they made me live in the cupboard under the stairs. And clean. And cook."

"_What_?"

"What what?"

"Your Muggle family treated you like a house-elf?"

"Pretty much." Harry was starting to feel self conscious about the towel around himself, as the conversation turned to a safer topic and the tea and time cleared the alcohol from his blood. He got up and went into the wardrobe, trading his towel for a pair of joggers, with Draco's voice following him.

"I thought they _worshipped_ you. I mean, _everyone_ worshipped you."

"You didn't." He said, offering a t-shirt to the blond, as he pulled one over his head too.

"Of course I did." Draco accepted the shirt, a little embarrassed about his confession. "Until you rejected me, and then I knew you had to be a little obtuse."

"Oh, come on, you were an awful kid." Harry threw himself on the bed, lying beside Draco.

"I was, I reckon that. But so were you, so full of yourself with all your fans. Now it makes sense that you're not really straight, everyone thought you would break so many hearts at Hogwarts."

"I hated it, you know. I still do. Going out in the Wizarding World is terrible, it's like everyone wants a piece of you. And I didn't break hearts, no one looked at me that way. It was not, uh, sexual." Draco laughed loudly when Harry got to that part. "What?"

"Of course it was sexual. And it only made it worse that you didn't like the attention. You should have heard them. _Oh, Potter is so fit, I'd snog him anytime, I want to have his babies, do you think Potter would like me with this dress? Or maybe without it?_"

"Merlin, who did you talk to?" Harry made a disgusted face that made Draco laugh again.

"I usually made gagging noises at that. We shared a lot of classes with Hufflepuff."

"Well, imagine if they knew I liked blokes too."

"That would've been pandemonium." They exchanged a glance between laughs. Draco looked away, staring at the empty mug between his hands. "I was wrong, you know? From the start. If I ever go back, I'll try to apologise."

"Apologise to whom?"

"Everyone. Granger. Weasley. Longbottom. Shit. Luna. I should apologise to Luna."

"Yeah. You should."

"And I should apologise to you. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. We've had the apologising streak before."

"Not in so many words." Draco hugged his arms, and, again, the blankets in the bed came to his aid. The rain was strong outside now. "It still answers to me."

"I thought it would." Harry pulled a bit of the blanket to cover his body.

"It doesn't bother you?" Draco laid by his side, resting his head on the pillow, and looking straight up at the ceiling, as Harry was.

"No. Are you planning on stealing my house?"

"Of course not!" Harry snorted, and Draco quickly continued. "It's a great house, don't get me wrong, but I don't want to steal anything."

"That's what I thought. So no, it doesn't bother me."

The two of them laid there for a while, and shortly after were fast asleep. It was the middle of the night already, and it had been a long night. Fortunately, they were sober enough by then that neither of them got confused when they were woken together, by a high pitched scream that filled the room and almost made them fall from the bed.

"HARRY, I'M BACK." He looked at a blurry mass of ginger hair by the door, right behind Draco's shocked grey eyes. "Shit, you have company. Sorry-y, I'm waiting downstairs."

Everything came back into focus as he put his glasses back on, listening to the loud thumps on the stairs as Ginny not so gently ran back down. Draco was sitting up and rubbing his face, one hand nervously smoothing his long hair.

"I think I should go, then." He said, getting up a little clumsily.

"You don't need to, you know."

"Yeah, how are you going to explain to a Weasley that a Malfoy was casually sleeping in your bed?" He straightened up his shirt. "Better pretend I'm just a guy you picked up last night, and I'll flee before she sees me-"

"Draco, she'd never believe that." Harry ran a hand through his hair and smiled. "I don't just fuck around."

"Well, isn't there a first time for everything?"

"I suppose, but she saw what you are wearing." He pointed at the tee Draco had on. The red and green decorated Bulgarian Snitch. The blond looked down at it, only then realising what he was wearing. "She'll know you are a wizard. And she'll know that's mine. And that we were fully clothed in the morning."

"And you happen to be a terrible liar, don't you, Potter?" Draco breathed out, a little annoyed. Harry chuckled.

"Are you so scared of facing her that you would prefer to pretend that you are your nemesis' one-night stand to his ex?" Draco looked shocked once again at the comment.

"Yes, I would, Potter! One-night stands have no name, mine comes before myself in her world!"

"Good Merlin, some things never change." Ginny appeared in the door frame again, looking from one to the other. Draco jumped at her voice, and Harry laughed from the bed. "I could hear you bickering from downstairs, and it was so fucking familiar I had to come back to check if it was what I thought it was. Good morning, Malfoy."

"Morning." He mumbled back, hiding his face behind some of his hair, but trying to adjust his composure to a tall and relaxed posture. It didn't really fool anyone.

"So there was no one-night stand, as I've heard?"

"No." Both of them replied, a small laugh could still be heard in Harry's voice, which got him an exasperated look from Draco.

"Bummer. That would be a believable story." Ginny entered the room and sat on the bed, making the mattress jump. "Now I'll have to shock Ronickins with something else."

"How was the season, Gin? Come back here, for Merlin's sake." Harry motioned Draco back to the bed, and he sat cautiously near the edge.

"We won, of course. How's the new house?" The boys exchanged a glance.

"It's been behaving itself, I guess." Harry answered.

"Not really, as I haven't been offered tea yet." When Harry asked why the house was the one that should be offering tea, Draco rolled his eyes and motioned a hand, making cups and a small kettle materialise on top of the bed, filling themselves. Ginny seemed pleased, taking one of them. After a moment, she turned to Draco. "So, I thought you had run out of the country."

"Nope. Worse. Muggle London." He didn't really meet her eyes when answering.

"You can look at me, Malfoy." Harry noticed that Draco's fingers grabbed his cup a little too tight, but he raised his eyes anyway.

"I apologise, Ginevra." He said solemnly, as if it made sense for such a domestic situation. "For everything."

"Okay." She said, blinking twice. "The war is over. I need to trust people again. But don't think I can't defend myself if necessary."

"I know you can." He gave her a small smile.

"So, do you two care to explain?"


	8. Part 8

They talked for a few hours, and Ginny quickly overcame the newfound friendship in a Muggle pub. They left out the house diversion, she had heard a lot about Harry's house problems in the past, and when he didn't bring it up, Draco decided to let it slide too. She told them all about the team and the Quidditch Championship; something they both clearly missed from the Wizarding World. She left with a promise to keep to herself that she had met Draco, a little because he was worried about his parents finding out he was in the Muggle world, and a little because she knew Harry should deal with the possible tantrum her brothers might throw, not her. When Molly asked her how Harry was, she was glad to say he was great, making new friends. It was true, after all.

Harry and Draco went downstairs to tell Ginny goodbye as she went through the Floo, when Draco spotted the CDs. They looked through the collection together, and listened to some music, before Draco noticed how late it was. "Not everyone works in a fucking pub", he said, as he raided Harry's wardrobe for a shirt not as complicated to wear and left. An Oasis album was on as Harry pulled something to eat out of the pantry, and he caught himself singing along to the lyrics. "I think I've got a feeling I've lost inside, I think I'm gonna take me away and hide, I'm thinking of things that I just can't abide" as he danced around, he thought about how the other day they never actually completed the plan to buy the tickets to the show that was coming so soon.

That was the first thing he talked to Ellie and Chiara about when he arrived at the pub, the smell of the hot pizza ovens already filling up the place. It was a new home for him, almost as good as treacle tart and candle-lit dinners. They agreed to let Chiara buy all of the tickets the next morning. It started to go downhill from there when she texted, way before noon, that the concert was sold out. Ellie said it was okay, after all, they had missed it because they were making Fortuna what it turned out to be. So they let it go, and Harry's days fell into a comfortable loop of scheduling bands, having drinks with his friends after the bar closed, eventually going back with Draco for late night talks and being introduced to new bands he had never heard before.

Ginny was the one from the Wizarding World who came around most often. She never questioned why the house would respond easily to Draco's commands but not hers, and it never occurred to her that something was not right with Grimmauld Place. She was really happy to see Harry involved in something that took him out so much, made him meet different people everyday, got him talking about discoveries and small successes almost every week. She got used to Malfoy's presence, mainly because she noticed how he was not the same person he used to be. Not because he didn't have the same ideas he had in the past - she surely had no idea what he thought about _that_, it was never a topic between them, except for the apology he had given her the first time she saw him there. It was mostly because he smiled often, he joked around her, specially if it was intended to mock Harry, and he made Harry look different in a way she hadn't really figured out yet. The boy had never looked at her like that- it was not lust, and it was not passion. Harry just seemed to understand every word Draco said, he seemed to feel understood by him, even when he was ranting about his Muggle appliances, drinks, or about bad behavioured customers he was sad he couldn't hex. She noticed that, more often than not, they would be wearing each other's clothes, and that they didn't really know how frequent it was. But she heard them both laughing every single time she saw them, so there wasn't much to say. She never asked if something had happened between them, but their familiarity was never sexual around her. It was just comfortable, like Harry and she turned out to be after the break up.

To Harry, nothing big had really happened. He only saw how much his anxiety was giving him a break, how he was calm going around crowded places, and even being recognised by customers in the pub, that would stop him, and that he would be happy to talk to for some moments. It was so far from what it felt like being harassed in the Wizarding World, that he just felt happy. Draco's presence was something he got used to, his weird mannerisms, the way he'd insist on waltzing sometimes even when they were listening to punk rock music. He got used to being woken up by nightmares that weren't his own when Draco stayed for the night, and used to getting a hot cup of tea and a comforting talk when the bad dreams were his own. He got used to showing Draco all the owls Andromeda sent him, showing how much Teddy was growing, and reassuring him that he should focus on his re-establishment in the Muggle world before coming back to keep an eye on his Metamorphmagus godson. He had someone to talk with, someone who knew his story and who he was now, and he didn't dare to question it. The girls in the pub took Draco as part of the gang, even if they kept making funny faces and throwing winks and glances whenever they thought Draco wasn't looking. He never mentioned noticing it.

They sometimes took some time to try to understand Harry's Muggle appliances and how they worked in a magical house so well, but they never had a lot of luck figuring it out. They would have tickling competitions sometimes, or they would fight over keeping the curtains open or closed in the morning. Their magic was always only performed inside the house, and their wands were forgotten a little more each day. It was way easier to make hand motions to put the kettle on, or light the fireplace, and they didn't even think about complicated wand movements or Latin-based spells anymore. Life was good and asking big questions was not part of it.

On July 15th, Harry received an owl from Hermione, who said Ron and she missed him like crazy and would stop by for dinner that Sunday, whether he wanted to or not. He warned the girls he wouldn't be in the next night, and they both assumed it was a big date he was hiding from them. The trio met around seven, when Ron stepped out of the Floo with enormous packages of food.

"Oi, mate! My mum made us bring dinner, but apparently she thought we'd meet the entire DA tonight." Harry laughed at his friend and helped him levitate the food to the table he had already prepared. Hermione came a second later, jumping on his neck, in a bear hug that couldn't feel more right.

"Harry! How are you? I'm so so sorry we haven't stopped by before, but things have been so busy these days in the Ministry, and the shop has been full non-stop, right, Ron? How is the house? Are you really feeling better?"

"Mione, Merlin, calm down, we have the entire dinner to talk. And, yes, I'm fine." Harry smiled at her, as she rolled her eyes and pulled both of them towards the table, while talking about the new laws she was trying to pass lately. They talked about their lives, about their family - George was doing so much better the last few weeks -, and about random memories of the three of them together. The house subject, unfortunately, was not forgotten.

"It's fine, I guess. It is a magical house. I found out the other day that… well, Grimmauld Place is gone. So this should be the new Black Manor of sorts."

"Grimmauld Place is what?" Ron mumbled with his mouth full.

"Why didn't you owl me immediately, Harry?"

"It's not a problem, actually. No one could make good come out of that place, don't you think so?" Ron seemed to consider the idea, and he nodded in response. Hermione was clearly mad about it, but she didn't argue. She frowned then, and only stopped to make a few remarks during dinner, brows furrowing more as time passed. Harry and Ron didn't really mind, her moods were nothing but common to them now, and they knew she would come around in her own terms eventually. They played a bit of wizard chess while Hermione walked around, as Ron made sure to bring one set as a gift, along with a lot of different products from the shop. Around eleven, the couple was clearly tired, and they said their goodbyes and stepped into the Floo. To Harry, it was oddly early, and he wondered if he should go to the pub a little late anyway, after he finished setting the kitchen to wash the dishes and store the food. His mobile rang just then. He picked it up from the front table and opened up the flip.

"Hello?"

"Harry. Are you ok?" Draco's voice filled his ears. He could hear a little bit of the background noise of the pub, but not loud enough to say the boy was inside. He must have taken the call outside.

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

"I came around Fortuna and the girls said they thought you were with me. Having dinner or something. They looked a bit preoccupied."

"Nah, Ron and Hermione came by. But they already left. Do you want to come over?"

"Sure. I have a surprise you are going to like." Harry could hear Draco's sly grin on the other end, and he laughed a bit. No matter how Muggle he wanted to live his life, there was no way to take the Slytherin out of Draco Malfoy.

Hermione stepped out of the Floo and picked some powder up before Ron could get properly out of the fireplace.

"Whoa, where are you going?"

"The Burrow." She said, as she stepped into the green flames. The brunette was not sure who she should be more pissed at. Harry was clearly hiding something. Or in danger. Probably both. Ginny was such an idiot sometimes, she could be helping him - or maybe she had not noticed anything. Which was _worse_. Sometimes it felt like Hermione had to take care of all of their friends herself, almost like their mom. She let out an annoyed breath as she jumped out in the Burrow, looking around for her redheaded sister-in-law.

"Hermione, dear, what are you doing here?" Mrs. Weasley came from the kitchen, startled by the fire roar.

"I'm sorry, Molly, I'm looking for Gin. Is she there?"

"Well, lucky her, no. She went to Luna's tonight. What are you so stressed out about? I'm going to make us some tea, okay?" For once, Hermione didn't really mind the motherly smothering Mrs. Weasley was always ready to give. Number one, because she wouldn't need to be the mom-friend for once, and number two, because she would be an actual good source of research.

"Do you know how magic entwines when we get married? Like it's a magical bond?"

"Yes, sure." The redheaded woman sat both of them at the kitchen table, waving the kettle and the cups to serve them.

"Is there anyway that someone can impose a bond like that to someone else?"

"I don't think so, Dear. You see, that kind of magic is really connected to our intimate feelings and choices, it appears out of an affinity, it's not an enchantment. It's old magic."

"What if I felt it in someone who wasn't married? I mean, it was not super strong, but I could feel it, I could feel it everywhere!" Hermione's tea had a great challenge at calming her down. None of Molly's words were helping her make sense out of what was going on at Harry's house.

"But they don't need to be married. Don't you know?" She shook her head. "Ron wanted to propose to you for a while, you know? Since I told him your magic was different. The three of you always had some sort of connection, I guess because you were such good friends. But after the battle, it changed. Your choices seemed to change. You and Ron had a bond of your own."

"Oh. Before the ceremony, then?"

"Yes, from the moment you two chose to be together, I guess. It's not very strong before the two people know it consciously, but it is very noticeable later."

"So… maybe, maybe Harry has found someone?" She mumbled to her teacup, brows furrowing again.

"Oh, all of this worry is about Harry?" Molly smiled kindly at her.

"Isn't it always?" The young woman ran a hand through her hair in irritation. How could her best friend be so close to someone - someone who was not Muggle, for sure! - and not tell her? Molly took something out of her pocket, and put it on the table between them.

"When we all moved into Grimmauld with the Order, I enchanted this." It was a pocket watch, all made of white gold. It seemed very old, probably a family heirloom. As Molly opened it, Hermione saw multiple hands, each one with a family member's name on it. "I took the liberty to include you and Harry back then."

She pointed at them, showing Hermione's hand pointed at "The Burrow", and Harry's pointed at "home".

"When he was at Grimmauld Place, it always pointed at 'lost' or 'danger'. It changed slowly after he moved into the townhouse in London. He's fine, Dear."

"It doesn't feel like his magic anymore, Molly. I'm worried."

"It's hard to see them grow apart from us, isn't it?" The older woman smiled a little, recognising how much responsibility Hermione felt for her friends. Before she could answer, they heard the door slamming and Ginny entered the kitchen humming lightly.

"Hey, mum. To what do we owe the pleasure, Mione?"

"You! You've been to Harry's! How didn't you notice there's someone else's magic there?" Ginny was startled right away when Hermione jumped up from her seat, almost turning over her mug.

"But of course I noticed." She answered with a smile. "It's kind of hard to miss."

"And how come you're not worried? Why didn't you tell us?"

"He's happy, Mione. Let him be happy. It's not my life to talk about. Mum, Luna asked if you had some Dittany in the garden that she could borrow."

"Of course, sweetheart. I'll separate some cuts she can replant later."

"Super, thanks!" The redhead answered, as she grabbed a mug for herself.

"You know more." Hermione was glaring at her, still standing up, but sat down when Ginny pulled a chair and started to sip on her tea. "Gin, he could be in danger."

"Oh, believe me, he is not in danger. He might be developing a questionable music taste, though."

"You won't tell me anything else, will you?" The brunette asked with a sigh.

"Nope."

"Then I'll find out for myself." She got up from the table, and walked towards the fireplace.

"Hermione, for Merlin's sake, just ask him!" Gin shouted after her, laughing warmly with her mother over Hermione's nerve.


	9. Part 9

Turns out Draco's surprise closed the whole bar down on Friday. It could have been one of their busiest days, yes, but when someone presented you with free tickets to watch Oasis at Wembley, you just don't say no. It was the night they would record the DVD for Familiar to Millions and Harry had never seen Ellie so excited before. She spent the entire day jumping up and down, her blue eyes seemed even bigger than usual. They agreed to meet by the train station, and even though Harry had put a big effort in choosing his fitted dark green t-shirt and black jeans, the sight of Draco waiting near the entrance made his heart skip a beat. He wore combat boots and tight black trousers, all going along with his black and grey baseball tee - one he had not vanished before. His long hair brushed his shoulders, and he smiled broadly when he saw Harry approaching.

Harry had been pushing away any kind of romantic feeling he had towards Draco lately. It had never been like that for them, and the friendship had been very welcome, so he threw away his first impressions from before they recognised each other and decided to ignore them. It was already complicated to explain to some people how they had become friends to start with - he didn't have the courage to mention it in front of Ron the other night, especially since they were not as active in each other's lives like before, and he couldn't imagine how hard it would be to explain that he nurtured a crush on their former enemy. But at that moment, it was kind of undeniable that he, indeed, had a crush on Draco. Not on the fit blond in a club, not on a memory he had from Hogwarts, but on the Draco that stood before him, that smiled at him in Muggle train stations, who knew how to work the DVD player better than he did, whose magic was part of his house and his daily life. Which was even harder to explain.

"What's got you all twisted up like that?" Ron asked, as he walked in on Hermione sulking, with her thinking face plastered on in a _really_ stressed way. She had spent the whole week trying to identify Harry's secret friend, or more than friend, who knows? She re-read every single letter they exchanged over the past months, threw some identifying charms on the pots and pans they had taken to his house, and when nothing helped her, she sat and thought for ages about who it could be.

"Oi!" Ron's voice echoed through her head as she ran over her memories of Neville's magical print.

"What?" She sounded a little lost, and he was sure she wasn't paying attention.

"You are worried. What's going on?" Hermione wondered if it was best to tell him, or if it would just freak him out. But she was never a good secret keeper.

"Just promise not to freak-out, okay?"

"Do you think they are going to take too long?" Harry asked, partly trying to make small talk, partly trying to hide his initial anxiety that was boiling up.

"They still have a couple of minutes. We're on time, don't worry."

"I'm not worried." Draco didn't argue, only giving him a grin. He was already used to Harry's small anxiety attacks, even if they had not talked about it. It was much like the first night in which he discovered Harry had been stuck at Grimmauld Place, as it was the way Harry bit his nails when he thought no one was looking, or how much more relaxed he looked when he left any kind of crowded place, or his constant lip nibbling. They both had grown up with baggage from their teenage years, and unfortunately, they were not going to forget that so easily. It made Draco mad too, even though he smiled to calm Harry down, how much they still dragged through because of a maniac who decided their lives were his for the taking. The shame simply made him angry in the end, and he was glad he had to focus on calming someone else so Harry wouldn't see any of his rage attacks.

When the girls arrived, they kept talking about the concert non-stop, and it took their focus away from themselves for a bit. It was when a couple of guys got off the train talking about them that it changed.

"I'm sorry you had to hear that." Chiara said, running her hand down Harry's arm. "I know it's hard for you to be among people, especially when it's not _our_ people. That's why, isn't it?"

Harry nodded, a new thread knitting itself in his complicated Muggle story.

"You should watch out at the concert, by the way." Ellie warned. "No one tends to mess with us girls, but boys might call their attention. Lay low, if you can."

They got to the stadium right before the gates opened, and waited in the queue to merge with the flood of people trying to get the best view. After a pause, Draco looked at them cautiously.

"If you two want, you can go up to the front. We'd better watch from the back, I guess."

They argued a bit, but eventually got caught up by the big structure that held the stage and agreed. They parted with a smile and a wave, leaving the two young men free to find a place at the side, leaning against one of the barriers. As the stadium filled with people, Harry felt his heart beat faster, his breathing getting a little heavier. He closed his eyes and leaned back, concentrating on the cold breeze that still flowed around them. He soon felt Draco's hand nudge his and grab his fingers, making small circles with his thumb against the back of his hand. They heard cursing coming their way a couple times, no matter how hard the blond tried to conceal it. Soon, Draco was startled by the feeling of an egg cracking on his head. He looked abruptly at Harry, who still had his eyes closed.

"A _Disillusionment_ _charm_? In the middle of all these people? Are you fucking crazy?"

"No one was looking. Sorry." Harry was looking down now, his scar glistening through his dark hair, as he raised his free hand to bite a nail.

"Did you even bring your wand?" Draco was clearly chiding him still, but his voice was softer now.

"No. It hasn't been working well for a while, I guess."

"You know, it's quite impressive that you can cast a wandless Disillusionment charm, right?" Draco grabbed his hand properly, pulling the other one from his mouth too. Harry gave in, but looked around suspiciously anyway. "They can't see us. It's a good charm."

"I'm sorry I'm being like this. It will be better when they start, I'm sure. I didn't think - it hasn't been that bad for a while."

"People haven't tended to harass you on the street for a while either, right?" He watched as the other shook his head. They stood in silence as they waited for the band to come up, watching the Muggle crowd talk and cheer.

"So Harry's in love?" he asked. "With someone from the Wizarding World?"

"Yes." Hermione nodded expectantly.

"And he didn't tell us about it, and you can't figure out who it is?"

"Exactly."

Ron looked at her with a funny face. He waited for a moment, and then he laughed. She stared at his face for a second.

"Ron! It's true! Don't be an insensi-"

"I know it's true." He interrupted between laughs. She stared at him open mouthed. He pulled himself together to explain. "I know how Harry behaves when he's in love by now, thank you very much. I just happen to know it's not my little sister this time, so it's fine. I'm done being mad at Harry's poor judgement when it comes to his _fancying_ people."

"Well, it could be her, after all. I think we would recognise her presence though, she's too familiar. But it could be some sort of charm, she knows too much about it."

"It's not her, Hermione."

"Wait. How are you so sure?" She eyed him suspiciously and got up on her feet, eyes growing bigger in her small fury, which just made her husband laugh harder. "Ronald Bilius Weasley!"

"I know who it is. I'm surprised you didn't recognise the magical print, though."

"Who?"

"I think I'll let you figure it out then, if you don't know." She approached and started to give him little punches in the arm. Ron giggled again at her face and embraced her fondly in his arms. His next words came lighter than they felt, more when Hermione froze as she heard them, but he had made his peace with it way before he said it. Ron had wanted to be in the spotlight for almost his entire childhood, and when his best friend who was always seen as the Saviour had stopped showing up in public, he received all the attention he had ever wanted and more. Somehow, now, he understood what Harry had been denied in the years he was growing up and, apparently, found in the middle of the Muggle world. No _exquisite_ choice of company would change that. "I'd never forget the ferret's magic, Mione."

When the band finally appeared on the stage, everyone was freaking out. Not being observed started to calm Harry down, and they were being slowly pulled to the middle of the giant group of people chanting "Oasis, Oasis!" with them. The first few songs started and ended in euphoria, as both of them became accustomed to the crowd, and their heartbeats slowly synced with the beat of the drums. They seemed to forget about everything then, letting their worries go as they danced, the music flow dominating their emotions. Harry eventually started laughing and it took Draco by surprise for a moment. The dark haired boy's face was full of colour, his eyes glimmering with the lights that hit the crowd. He straddled his arm around Harry's shoulder, leaning closer to talk over the music in his ear.

"Are you feeling better?" The answer was clear, but he needed to ask as much as he needed to touch the other boy again. Draco noticed him relaxing in his embrace, reducing the distance between them. Harry nodded, approaching him to answer, but no words came out when he felt the warmth of Draco's cheeks, his stubble scratching him a little. Draco's scent was something he was already used to, but in that moment it seemed to be the only thing in the air to breathe. Harry backed up for a second, just enough to look into worried grey eyes. They stood there for not more than a couple seconds, as the only thing they heard from the stage was a single "nobody knows the way it's gonna be" at the end of the song. Draco let his fingers brush the black curls on the back of Harry's head, and tore his eyes from the emerald he was staring at, closing the distance between their lips. Both of them lost themselves in the kiss, that was slow, calm, appropriate for the new life they had been living. The shock of magic as they touched was a reminder, on the other hand, of the past they had been ignoring. It started small and built up, involving both of them like one, circling between feet, legs, fingertips and every strand of hair. They were war survivors, they were two of the most powerful wizards alive, they had thrown away most of their lives to serve in battles they didn't choose and right there, in the middle of thousands of Muggles their magic knew it, and for the first time, recognised the choices that were being made in their hearts and souls.

As they pulled apart, the Disillusionment charm broke, sliding off them like water. Their limbs tickled with an inspiring energy, and neither of them knew if it felt like crying or laughing. The rest of the night went by in a blur. They met the girls on the way out, and went back to their house for a slice of the homemade pizza and drinks that united them in the first place. They both smiled broadly when they saw the boys holding hands, even though they didn't comment. Harry and Draco were both very quirky and mysterious people, who never really gave too much information about their past and what went on inside their heads - or their hearts. But they were both terrible liars, because at some point they seemed to make a choice to not lie, which was both unexpected and undeniable when you got to know them, and that was how the girls knew this was good. They had a weird kind of openness and understanding that was reserved to each other, exchanged silently through glances and small touches, as those couples who have been married for long years and share too many stories to tell.

When they came back to Harry's place, Draco motioned them both cups of tea, as Harry lit the fireplace, and they sat in comfortable silence for some time. They laid together on the couch, fingers brushing cheeks and lips, hands caressing hair, eyes studying the beautiful features they wanted to memorise. They fell asleep soon after that, while the house changed little details for them. Some spaces got bigger, the wardrobes had more hangers, the bookcases suddenly could hold more volumes. The sheets slowly turned into silk, and the cupboard filled with different flavours of tea and jam. The main wall in the corridor slowly started growing a stylised drawing of a tree, until it looked like an old and intricate web of branches and leaves. On the side, a small coat of arms appeared, with a saber and two stars around a white arrow. It was held by two large black dogs, that opened their eyes and looked around the room. They stayed there silently through the night, watching in vigilance, tails wagging and ears raising everytime they heard any changes in the breathing sounds that came from the living room.


	10. Part 10

The stillness of the foggy morning was suddenly disrupted by the sound of Hermione's screams as she stepped out of the Floo, soon after it roared up in green flames. Ron was right behind her, but he didn't seem to be very awake nor willing to talk.

"HARRY, WE ARE HERE, WE HAVE PANCAKES - oh, what the hell?"

She looked around assessing how much the house had changed, but, more importantly, how the feeling of mixed magical prints was everywhere. She stood there for a moment, not noticing Harry's eyes were already opened when they came through, while he kindly caressed the blond hair that laid on his chest. Her screams startled Draco, but as he looked up in the middle of a hazy confusion, Harry calmed him down with a gaze and a smirk. Ron yawned loudly, bringing Hermione's attention back to the mundane things, like the two men in a tangled mess in front of her.

"Mornin'." Mumbled Ron, walking to the nearest chair and making himself comfortable.

"Morning, Ron." Harry's voice echoed in Draco's brain as he kept his ear glued to the man's chest. He could tell how relaxed his - boyfriend?, he thought. Were they boyfriends now? Have they been boyfriends for a while now? Well, semantics. - how relaxed his _boyfriend_ was. He, on the other hand, was frozen right there. His heart was beating fast, not really because of the fact that Hermione Granger - wasn't she a Weasley now? Maybe Harry had mentioned they were married now - and Ron Weasley _barged in_ _the room_ as he slept, and more about the fact that _Hermione Whatever-her-name-is and Ron Weasley_ barged in the room as he slept. Maybe he could pretend he was still sleeping, so he could avoid interaction in any form. "Mione."

"It's changed." She answered, clearly leaving her good manners home, which Draco should have expected by the way she came in. He heard a low laugh bubble in Harry's chest.

"It has. Last night." Harry didn't know if she was talking about the house, the relationship or their magical prints, that he now felt flowing between them, as if shared. It was like when you were so used to your own smell that you don't even realise it's there, but then you get a new perfume and you get huffs of the scent all day long. What he had with Draco was there, palpable in the air. Hermione's eyes fell to the immobile body, who must have sensed it, as Harry felt Draco's muscles tense and face bury a little more in his t-shirt.

"Can he control it?" Oh, it was the house, then. Harry looked down at Draco.

"I don't know. Can you?" A fond smile played on his face as he felt Draco snort at being summoned into the conversation.

"Of course I can." He mumbled, before raising his body and rubbing his eyes. His voice was provocative, but it lacked malice. "But maybe I should have used all my control to close the Floo yesterday."

Hermione glared at him, and opened her mouth to say something, but Ron interrupted her from the side.

"Can you use your control to serve us some coffee?" And her glare turned straight to her husband. "What? It's too bloody early to have a conversation without coffee, Mione. You know that."

She didn't get to answer that either, as Draco used the excuse to get out of the living room.

"Yes. Of course. I'll be back."

"Thanks, mate." It was good Draco had already turned around on the way to the kitchen, because he was sure he couldn't have hidden his expression when _Ron Weasley_, of all people, called him _mate_. They were not mates, they were sworn enemies. For _generations_. _Malfoys didn't get on friendly terms with Weasleys, they didn't turn out to be mates - _he interrupted the thought as he leaned on the counter and let out a loud breath. He was not a Malfoy anymore. Now, that was nothing more than a name he carried, he didn't need to care about its history, its obligations or its reputation. Harry didn't care. Ginny _Weasley_ didn't care. He pointed at the coffee pot, waving his hand, and the powder started to fill as the water began to boil on the stove. He couldn't hear anything that was being said in the living room, and part of him was happy about that. He didn't need to convince those two - well, Hermione apparently, since Ron was his _mate_, now - that his Malfoy behaviour was in the past. That could be Harry's job, they were his friends, after all. He took a deep breath, and levitated the four mugs of coffee, the milk jar and the sugar pot onto a pretty silver tray that he had never seen before. It was refined and great for guests, which calmed him down a little. He went back to the living room, the tray following him silently. He placed it on the centre table, in front of a still open-mouthed Hermione, a creased Harry, his hair pointing in all possible directions, and an almost-asleep Ron, even though he had perked up when he saw Draco approaching. He almost spilled the hot coffee when Hermione screeched - _again _\- as he passed one mug to Ron.

"That _bitch_!" Draco raised his eyebrows at her as he reached to pass her mug too, shocked to hear that kind of language in Hermione's always vast vocabulary. Too vast now, maybe. She looked at him as she accepted the mug - it was early, really. "She is friends with you now, isn't she?"

"Who?" He asked, sitting back on the couch as he watched Harry prepare both of their coffees - two sugars for him, one sugar and a part of milk for Draco.

"Ginny." Hermione answered, taking a sip. "She really is the best friend, now, right?"

"Ahem." Ron cleared his throat, right when Draco realised Hermione had been calling her sister-in-law a bitch. "Didn't we bring pancakes?"

"Oh, yeah, sorry." Hermione mumbled, pulling up a charmed food basket from under the table and started serving their plates, pancakes, butter, syrup and all.

"Hm, she comes around sometimes. She is cool. I guess we are friends, yeah." He answered, looking up at Harry again. The smile never left his face, maybe it had even grown bigger.

"Fuck, Harry!" Hermione snorted and stuffed her mouth with a big pancake piece. Harry told her that Ginny had just started to pop up here, pretty much like she and Ron had just done, and she found out, it was not planned. Hermione mumbled something about not having long vacations as she wasn't playing for any major Quidditch team right now.

"She's been in this rivalry with my sister to be Harry's official best friend for years." Ron explained, not worrying about his full mouth. "She had a broom up her ass all week. At first she said it was about Harry being with you, but it was just that she thought she was losing the competition. So I got dragged here on _pancake duty_."

And with that, Draco felt some of the tightness in his back release. So it was true, Ron Weasley was treating him like a mate. And Hermione's swearing was not about him, not really. Judging by Harry's everlasting smile, he knew that from the moment he saw her. She was even jealous of Ginny being friends with Draco, and she had brought pancakes. Later Harry would tell him he had to reassure her that he wasn't hiding anything, and that he knew there was no reason to. They talked over pancakes and Draco found out that Harry's friends were not bad, not at all. Hermione was intelligent, but not a know-it-all. She listened eagerly as Draco told her about his Muggle career. Ron was fun and laid-back, clearly not Malfoy mannered in any sense, and that was simply refreshing. He wasn't as energetic as Ginny, who could fill up a room even being a head shorter than any of the boys, but he had a calm and relaxing energy about him.

They all went through the house, looking for every new detail, and every single one of them stopped in front of the giant tree in the corridor. Their eyes followed every branch, but they could only find seven names there. On the top, two branches named Narcissa and Lucius resulted in a big branch called Draco. Narcissa's name had a small branch at the right side called Andromeda, that led into Teddy's name two levels below. On the left, Sirius' branch led to a big branch with Harry's name. The marauder's name was faded in comparison to the others. There was no one else. Not even Tonks or Remus. Their surnames were, in the tree, all the same.

"This is the House of Black." Ron said after a long silence.

"The _new_ House of Black." Hermione corrected. "It only picked up living members of the family."

"I think I should fire-call Andromeda."

Draco felt a hand brush his own, then tangle their fingers. He didn't have to look at him to know Harry's stupid grin had never left his face.

Notes:

This took so long to finish. Then I realized it was finished all along.

I hope you all enjoyed it, and I'm open to any critique you might have.

Thank you so much for reading it!


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